Idle Town
by arcaneocean
Summary: According to twelve year old Sawyer Duncan, the only interesting part about Beacon Hills, California, are the ghosts. But, when she and her friend Donna discover a deeper, darker side to their idle town, it flips their lives upside down. Will Sawyer survive these new threats, or will she join the ghosts that plague her every day? (Title is taken from Conan Gray's song, Idle Town.)
1. In Which We Meet Our Heroine

**I do not own Teen Wolf.**

 _"This town will never change._

 _People come and go, it's all the same."_

— _Idle Town by Conan Gray_

* * *

 _This is it. This is the last straw_ _,_ Sawyer Duncan thought as she slammed her locker, filled to the brim with crumpled papers, shut. Turning on her heel, she scanned the area for the culprit, only to find an empty hallway, except for Sawyer's only friend, Donna Myers. The final bell had rang long ago, and Beacon Hills Middle School had completely cleared out

"Damn, kid, you need to start sticking up for yourself every once and a while," Donna told her, her slender arms folded over her chest, and her hazel eyes peering out from behind her round tinted sunglasses.

Sawyer groaned. "I know, Don," she complained. "Just 'cause I have a job, and I don't talk much, everyone in the eighth grade hates me!" She was one of the youngest eighth graders at Beacon Hills Middle School, and the only student there to have a job, which apparently warranted relentless bullying. Technically, she was supposed to be in the seventh grade—she was only thirteen, after all—but she skipped a grade, which apparently made them hate her even more.

"Dunno if they hate you," Donna mused, pocketing her sunglasses. "They just think you think you're better than them. Which you are, but that's just my opinion. Anyway, speaking of your job, you'd better get a move on if you don't wanna be late." She jerked her

Sawyer's job at the library was very simple: she just had to scan books, take the money for fines, and help somebody if they looked lost. She liked her job; the library was a quaint, comfy little place, filled with the things she loved—books. Donna, however, did not share the younger girl's cheerful mentality about the situation.

Donna was lying dramatically on top of the library counter. She turned her head to face Sawyer, pouting childishly. "How on earth do you survive this?" Donna asked, groaning. Like always, the young woman received a total of zero dirty looks, which was because Donna Myers was, in fact, a ghost. She had died at some point in the 1960s, and, for reasons unknown, Sawyer was the only one who could see ghosts. It was admittedly part of the reason she had no friends.

Rolling her eyes, Sawyer opened her mouth to retort, only to shut her mouth and then say as politely as she could, "Can I help you?" A high school boy had approached the counter and was drumming his hands on the plastic surface apprehensively. He hadn't noticed her yet, choosing instead to glance around the room quickly.

The teenager jumped, before glancing down at Sawyer with a look that seemed to say, _What the hell are you doing here, kid?_ He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You work here?"

Sawyer shrugged. "I don't get paid, but yeah."

Apparently, that was a good enough answer for him. "Well, I was wondering if you guys had any books on mythological creatures, specifically werewolves?"

"Yeah, they're over in that corner over there with the other folklore books," Sawyer responded, pointing to the far left corner of the library. "Do you mind if I ask why you want to read about werewolves of all things?"

Rubbing the back of his neck, the teen responded, "Well, it's, uh, for an English project! Yep, we have to choose a made-up creature and write about it. In this case, a werewolf."

Donna scoffed. "That is the biggest load of bull I have ever heard in my life."

Ignoring her friend, Sawyer smiled at the high school boy as politely as she could. "Good luck with your project, then! And, if you plan on checking any books out, just bring them up here, and they'll be due within three weeks."

The boy managed a small smile. "Thanks, uh..."

"Sawyer," she told him. "Sawyer Duncan."

"Stiles," he replied. "Thanks again, Sawyer—you're a life saver!" With that, the boy—Stiles—quickly made his way in the direction Sawyer had pointed him.

Donna huffed as she sat on the counter. "Man, this one is a pisser," she commented. "I know that dude's lying, but I don't know what he's lying about!"

Sawyer rolled her eyes as she whispered discreetly, "Don, you're a ghost. Literally nobody can see you. I'm sure you can find this out pretty easily."

Slapping a hand to her forehead, Donna groaned, "Oh, duh! I knew that!" She quickly floated out of the library, leaving Sawyer by herself at the counter.

* * *

The rest of Sawyer's work day was unfortunately uneventful, and, before she knew it, she found herself sitting on her bed, pouring over her maths textbook. As she scanned the page, reading about the _fascinating_ topic of exponents, a sudden voice whispered in her ear: _"Boo."_

Shrieking, Sawyer threw up her arms, accidentally letting the textbook sitting on her lap fall to the floor with a loud _BANG!_

"Donna!" She complained, glaring at the hysterical ghost. "Stop doing that!" For once, she was thankful that her mother was working late at the hospital—Sawyer didn't really want her mom coming into her room to investigate why the textbook was thrown to the floor.

"Sorry, sorry," Donna told her, grinning.

Sawyer rolled her eyes. "No, you're not."

"Yeah, you're right. I'm not," the ghost agreed cheekily before the smile faded from her face, leaving a hauntingly grave expression. "But I've got news, kiddo, big news."

"What is it?" Sawyer

"That Stiles kid?" Donna began. "His buddy is a real, genuine werewolf. Those animal attacks that've been driving the fuzz everywhere? Those are other werewolves."

"Are you serious?" Sawyer asked, her eyes widening to saucers.

"As a heart attack," replied the ghost. "We're not in Dullsville anymore, kiddo."

Even though she didn't want to believe it, Sawyer knew that Donna's words rang true. She could see ghosts, after all. Didn't that mean that werewolves were a possibility, too? Oh, God, if werewolves and ghosts were real, then what else was real? Vampires?

Sawyer shook her head. Now wasn't the time to have a melt down. Looking back at Donna, she asked softly, "Are we going to do anything with this new information?"

"Of course we are," Donna scoffed. "We're gonna get down to the nitty-gritty of this situation, kid, so you'd better get ready. We start tomorrow after school—don't be late!"

* * *

 **This chapter was edited on April 25, 2018. I apologize for the mess this chapter was!**


	2. In Which Sawyer Realizes the Truth

**I do not own Teen Wolf!**

 _"All we are is an isle of flightless birds_

 _We find our worth in giving birth and stuff_

 _We're lining our homes against winding roads,_

 _and we think the going is tough."_

— _Isle of Flightless Birds by Twenty One Pilots_

* * *

Scott McCall didn't want to be here. In all honesty, he would rather be with Allison, on another date. But, for some reason, his mom decided it would be _great_ if he babysat her friend's daughter. The kid was in the eighth grade or something like that, but apparently, with all the animal attacks going on, her mom did not want her only child home alone. That's where Scott came in.

He sat shotgun in his mom's car as she drove him to their destination, feeling rather disgruntled. Sighing, he clenched his fists and held back a groan of frustration. This was probably a horrible idea—he still couldn't get a handle on his werewolf powers, and here he was, about to go look after a _kid_.

"It'll be _fine,_ Scott," Mrs. McCall told her son, sensing his discomfort. "I've met Claire's daughter many times, and Sawyer is a very nice girl!"

Scott shook his head. "I-it's not that, Mom, I—"

"I know Scott," interrupted Mrs. McCall. "But it's just for one night. If you were still in the eighth grade, and there were these animal attacks, I'd get someone to watch you, too." Sighing, Scott knew there would be no getting out this. As his mom pulled the car into park, she told him, "I'll go in there for just a little bit, then Claire and I are going to head back to the hospital. Alright?"

Nodding, Scott tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace than anything. "Alright."

Mrs. McCall rang the doorbell, and stepped back, smiling widely. "Claire!"

The young woman in the doorway grinned excitedly. "Melissa!" She then turned to Scott. "And you must be Scott. I'm Claire; it's so nice to finally meet you!"

They shook hands, and Scott replied, "It's nice to meet you too, ma'm."

Claire held up a finger. "Just a second; let me call her down." She turned her back to them and called up the stairs, "Sawyer! Come over here, please!"

With his werewolf abilities, Scott could hear a groan before he heard socked feet coming down the stairs. The girl, Sawyer, was small, even for a middle schooler. She had long brown hair that came down to her shoulder blades, and thick, round glasses were perched on her nose. "Yeah, Mom?" She asked, her heart beating rather quickly—she must have been doing something she shouldn't have, Scott mused. But the question was what?

"Sawyer," Claire began, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, "this is Melissa and her son, Scott. Scott over here is going to be your babysitter for tonight while June is sick, okay?"

As she opened her mouth to reply, Sawyer glanced at something just behind Scott's shoulder, and her face paled. Her heart began to go a mile a minute; she was afraid. Of what, Scott couldn't exactly say, but there was definitely _something_ wrong.

"Y-yeah, totally fine," Sawyer finally said, smiling tightly. "It's nice to meet you two, but I've... got a lot of homework! So I'd, uh, better get on that!" With that, Sawyer turned on her heel and ran back up the stairs, her heart still beating erratically with fear.

Claire furrowed her eyebrows. "That's odd—she's usually much more polite, I promise. Well, uh, anyways, thank you so much for doing this, Scott, and one last thing: Sawyer sometimes gets these awful migraines. She can tell a few seconds before they happen, but medicine doesn't do anything, so you usually just have to wait them out. They don't happen too often, but I wanted to make sure you're aware in case something does happen."

Scott nodded. "Thank you, ma'am."

As the two women began leaving, Melissa turned back to her son. "Be good," she told him sternly, pointing a finger at him.

Chuckling, Scott nodded. "I will, Mom." Shutting the door, he pursed his lips. There was something off about Sawyer, and he was going to find out what.

* * *

 _Earlier_

Sawyer sat in her room, writing in her science notebook, when Donna floated through the window.

"What's crackin', kiddo?" She asked, sitting cross-legged on Sawyer's bed.

"My will to live," Sawyer mumbled as she slammed her notebook shut. "I hate science. I wish I could burn this thing, and then I can never think about it again!"

Donna laughed. "Well, I'm sorry, kid, but it is what it is."

"I know, I—"

"Sawyer!" Her mother called. "Come over here, please!"

Her heart stopped. What if her mom had heard her talking to Donna? Was she going to send her to the loony bin or something? Groaning slightly, she began to make her way downstairs, growing more and more apprehensive with each step. As she finally got to her mother, she asked, "Yeah, Mom?" There were two other people in the open door.

Claire placed a hand on Sawyer's shoulder. "Sawyer, this is Melissa and her son, Scott. Scott over here is going to be your babysitter for tonight while June is sick, okay?"

She opened her mouth, but abruptly shut it when she saw Donna's horrified face behind Scott.

"He's the werewolf kid! I swear; he's the one." Donna's eyes were wide with fear for the young girl.

Sawyer felt her face pale and her heart speed up before she replied, "Y-yeah, totally fine. It's nice to meet you two, but I've... got a lot of homework! So I'd, uh, better get on that!" She turned around as quickly as she could, trying not to seem suspicious, and sprinted up the stairs before shutting her bedroom door and leaning against it, her hand over her chest.

Donna placed her hand on Sawyer's shoulder, or she tried to; her hand went straight through her arm. "It'll be alright, kiddo—it's only for today, and then you'll be back with that bozo, June."

Huffing, Sawyer crossed her arms over her chest. "At least June's too busy talking to her boyfriend to pay attention to what I'm doing."

Footsteps sounded up the stairs—Scott was coming. Quickly, Sawyer grabbed her phone and began to speak into it. "Anyways, Don, I've gotta go. See you later, man!" She 'hung up' just as Scott knocked on her door.

"Uh, Sawyer?" He asked sheepishly. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, sure!" Sawyer responded, glancing at Donna. That was a close one!

Scott opened the door and shuffled in, glancing all around the room before his gaze settled on Sawyer. "So, uh, who were you talking to?"

"My friend from school—Donna Myers," Sawyer told him. "I had to ask her a question." It wasn't a _total_ lie, she assured herself.

"Okay, cool." Scott nodded. "Were you okay earlier? You seemed pretty scared of something earlier."

"Don't play dumb with her, you dick!" Donna yelled angrily. "You know exactly what's going on, Mr. Werewolf!"

"Is there something over there?" Scott asked, noticing the way Sawyer's eyes glancing over to the side a little, almost as if there was someone there that he couldn't see, but she could.

"Nope, nothing!" Sawyer said quickly. "I thought I saw something, though. Guess it was just my imagination!"

Scott raised an eyebrow skeptically. _She's lying,_ he thought to himself, but he ignored it. "Okay, well, I just came up to tell you that I ordered a pizza, and it should be here in, like, ten minutes."

"That, that sounds good. Cool." Sawyer bobbed her head. "June never did that."

"June Price?"

"Yeah."

Scott chuckled a little bit. "She's in my chemistry class. She's a little..."

"Annoying?" Supplied Sawyer. "Yeah. My mom loves her though. She thinks June is, like, God's gift or something."

"Well, uh, anyways," Scott motioned to the door. "I'm just gonna... yeah." He awkwardly made his way out of her room, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

"Stiles!" Scott whispered as loud as he could into the phone.

"What is it?" Stiles asked. "Why are you whispering?"

"Remember that kid that my mom wanted me to babysit?" He asked his friend, running a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, why?"

"Th-there's something off about her. Earlier, she was looking at me, and she just kinda freaked out, and just now, she said she was talking on the phone to someone she went to school with named Donna Myers, but I know she's lying and that she hadn't called anyone. D'you think—"

Stiles interrupted him, "Already on it." There was a pause, and Scott could hear his friend type quickly on his computer. "Scott, I think your friend might be a little crazy," he said finally, his voice a little worried.

"Why?"

"Because, apparently, the only Donna Myers from Beacon Hills has been dead since 1968."

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Well, that's chapter two! I hope you all liked it! Also, I wanted to thank Spacedoodles for leaving a kind review and for following, Arianna Le Fay for favoriting, and YourpalMoony for following this story as well. You guys rock!**

* * *

 **This chapter was edited on April 26, 2018.**


	3. In Which Secrets Are Shared

**I do not own Teen Wolf.**

 _"I'm a semi-functioning human, but I've done pretty well so far_

 _Sure I slept in 'til like three, but I made a great cup of tea_

 _So that's one gold star for me."_

— _Gold Star for Me by Dodie Clark_

* * *

"Sawyer?" Oh, God, It was Scott. "Hey, Sawyer c-can I talk to you for a second?" He was coming up the stairs. _Oh, God._

Donna floated up through the floor, looking at Sawyer urgently. "No time to chit-chat. They're coming, kid. It's happening."

"Oh no. No, no, no, no!" She felt all the color drain from her face.

"Sawyer?" Scott sounded really concerned this time.

The 'it' that Donna was talking about was a stampede of ghosts, to put it simply. They generally liked to hang out in hordes, and when they find out that there's this human girl who can see them, they try to get to her as fast as they can, to ask her to tell their loved ones this, that, or the other. So basically, it's just a group of dead people shouting at her for sometimes minutes, sometimes hours. It varied.

Sawyer shot up and ran to the bathroom as fast as she could and slammed the door, even if she knew it wouldn't do her any good. Curling up in the bathtub, she put her hands over her ears and braced herself.

They arrived slowly, almost one at a time. It was going to be a long one. She could tell.

The first to arrive was a middle aged man.

"They said you can see us," he whispered softly, as if he were in awe. "That you could help us."

Sawyer whimpered, pulling her legs closer to her chest. "Please go away," She begged softly. He ignored her.

A teenage girl appeared next. "Can you please talk to my mother for me? The last time I talked to her, I told her to die, and I j—"

"Wait your turn!" The man interrupted angrily. "I was here first!"

"So?" asked an elderly woman who was poking her head in through the ceiling. "She didn't seem to be helping you, mister!"

They kept coming and coming. It was like they never _stopped_ coming until the entire bathroom was filled with ghosts. Ghosts that only Sawyer could see. It was a nightmare.

Somewhere over all of the shouting, Sawyer could've sworn she heard Scott calling her name, asking if she was okay.

 _I'm definitely_ not _okay,_ she thought to herself, tears welling in her eyes.

"Make it stop," she begged quietly. "Please, please, it's too much! Leave me alone!" She wanted to pass out, or throw up. Maybe throw up, _then_ pass out. She wasn't sure. There was too much noise to think straight, or to think at all. Her ears were ringing, her head pounding, and she was sobbing.

* * *

Scott McCall only heard the sobbing and the faint pleads coming from Sawyer.

"Stop it, stop it please," she cried quietly.

With a start, he realized this must be one of the migraines that Claire was talking abo—

"I can't, I can't tell people!" That didn't sound like someone who had a migraine. "Please, leave me alone!" Okay, there was _definitely_ something wrong here.

Suddenly, Scott felt a chill pass through him, and he shuddered. _That was_ —

Gasping, he looked up to see nothing writing on the whiteboard on the wall in Sawyer's room. Literally. Nothing was holding the marker, which was writing on the board.

 _Can I trust you with Sawyer?_ It read.

"Can _I_ trust _you?"_ retorted Scott.

The invisible figure erased their sentence before writing again. _That depends on whether or not you hurt Sawyer, Werewolf._

"Ho-how do you know that?"

 _I have my ways._

"No, seriously, that only happened, like, a couple days ago. I'm still figuring this sort of stuff out, here."

 _Name's Donna Myers. I'm a ghost._

"Huh, Stiles was right. You are dead!" He seemed a little impressed, but that was about it.

 _Most people are terrified, you know._

"Werewolf, remember? And what does this have to do with Sawyer?"

 _Sawyer Duncan is the only human who can see us._

"So, what's happening right now?"

The marker rose back up to the board, writing faster this time, as if she were in a hurry.

 _When other ghosts find out that there's a human who can see them, they get a little desperate. They come to her in huge groups, ask her do pass on messages to their loved ones. Ghosts only stick around if they have unfinished business, you see._

"Is there anything I can do to, to help her?"

 _Sadly, no. All we can do is wait._

And so, Scott did. He sat in the blue desk chair, trying to ignore Sawyer's desperate whimpers, but with his werewolf hearing, he heard it all too well. It made him feel awful that there was nothing he could do about it.

* * *

After what felt like an eternity, the voices finally left, and Sawyer was alone, still curled up in the bathtub. Tears were still leaking from her eyes, and they got all over her arms that were wrapped around her head, wetting the sleeves of her sweater.

"Sawyer?" Scott began to open the door cautiously. "I'm coming in, alright?"

"Okay," she sniffled.

"Feeling better?"

"Y-yeah. Sorry about that—I, I get these migraines, and they h-hurt so b—"

Scott put his hands on her shoulders awkwardly. "Hey, hey hey, it's okay, you're okay, you're okay."

"Sorry."

"Don't be." He pursed his lips before continuing, "So, uh, Donna told me your, um, _secret_..."

Sawyer felt her eyes widened. "What do you m—"

"Well, I mean, I didn't _talk_ to her, she just wrote stuff on your whiteboard..."

"You talked to Donna?" Sawyer asked incredulously.

Scott shrugged. "She also knew my secret."

"You bet your ass I did, ya skag!" Donna crowed victoriously. "Nothing gets past Donna Myers!"

When Sawyer started chuckling, Scott couldn't help but ask, "What?"

Still laughing, she told him, "Donna. S—she called you a skag." She sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

"A what?"

"It-it's slang from when Donna was still around. It means an ugly woman."

Scott placed a hand over his chest, looking mildly offended.

"A-anyways," Sawyer hurried on. "You're actually a werewolf?"

"As of, like, two days ago, yeah. You can see ghosts?"

"Since I was born."

Scott's eyes widened. "Whoa, that's cool! Wh—"

 _THUD!_

Both Scott and Sawyer looked over to the source of the noise: a teenage boy right outside the window.

"Stiles?" Scott asked. He lifted the window to see his friend hanging on to the window sill, gasping for air.

"Oh, thank God!" Stiles cried. "Pull me in!"

"Stiles, what are you doing here?"

"Figured you'd need help with that crazy kid. Now hurry, pull me in before anyone sees me!"

Sawyer raised an eyebrow. "Uh, kinda too late for that..."

Stiles's eyes widened comically. "Hey! You're that kid from the library!"

"And you're the weirdo who checked out all of those werewolf books!"

"Rude!"

"Guys, guys, enough!" Scott called out, waving his arms. "Stiles, she knows."

At this, Stiles almost fell back out the window. "What? How?!"

"Donna told me," Sawyer responded.

"Oh, you mean your dead, nonexistent frien— _hey!_ Ow!" Stiles looked over to see a pencil 'hovering' by his arm.

"Bitch, what do you mean, I'm not real?!" Donna demanded, completely prepared to stab him again.

"Uh, Donna wants to know what do you mean, she's not real," Sawyer said sheepishly, watching as the color drained from Stiles's face.

"Whoa, whoa, what just happened?!" Stiles yelled.

"You, uh, got poked in the arm by an annoyed ghost with a pencil."

 _"Ghosts?!"_ Stiles turned to Scott. "How are you so calm about this?"

Scott shrugged. "Honestly, I have no clue. It's still setting in. Maybe it's because of the whole werewolf thing."

Stiles made a face. "Yeah, yeah."

Chuckling, Scott shoved Stiles back towards the window. "Now get out of here! Our moms are gonna be back soon, and I want them to think I'm actually responsible."

Stiles laughed despite himself. "Okay, okay, I'm going!"

As Sawyer shut the window, she looked at Scott. "Now what?" Things were a lot different now; they both discovered different parts of Beacon Hills that they didn't know even existed.

Pursing his lips, Scott replied. "I guess we'll just have to find out."

* * *

 **A/N**

 **Thank you all so much to everyone who has read my story so far! My updating schedule will definitely be very spontaneous due to high school and other extra-curricular activities, but I promise that I will _try_ to update as often as I can! Also, since I'm taking midterms this week, I get to leave school early, which means more writing time for me (yay!). Then, I go straight into winter break, which means even _more_ writing time, so expect many updates!**

 **Reviews:**

 **Happy (Guest): I'm glad you enjoyed this! I'll be sure to update as much as I can; don't worry!**

 **Spacedoodles: Thank you so much! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!**

* * *

 **This chapter was edited on April 26, 2018.**


	4. In Which Sawyer Has Non-Ghost Friends

**I do not own Teen Wolf!**

 _ **"** I'm not sinking, I'm just kicking it at sea level_

 _I got my floaties on_

 _I'm focusing on all the wonderful stuff with the force of Obi Wan."_

— _Strong As An Oak by Watsky_

* * *

School was okay; Sawyer didn't particularly hate it or like it. It was just... _there_. Her opinion of the place fluctuated—some days it was great, other days it was hell. Today, it kinda felt like hell. Sawyer sighed as she sat on a bench outside the school. She had to walk home today because her bike was in the shop, and she was contemplating calling her mom from her work to ask her to pick her up.

"Yo, Duncan!" It was Lucas.

Lucas Martin was the most popular boy in the eighth grade, and he had a rather odd fascination with Sawyer. The decision on whether that was good or bad was still pending.

"What do you want?"

Lucas smirked as he sat next to her. "What's wrong, Duncan? You get my present yesterday?"

Sawyer rolled her eyes so hard, she thought they might fall out. "Yeah, thanks for that," she scoffed. "I was almost late to the library cleaning my locker out."

Laughing, Lucas placed an arm around her shoulders, ignoring how she stiffened uncomfortably. "Aw, I'm sorry, Duncan. Maybe I could make it up to you?"

Before Sawyer could tell him that no, she'd rather _die_ than do _anything_ with him, a black Camaro pulled close. A man stepped out, the living definition of tall, dark, and creepy.

"Sawyer?" The man rumbled, crossing his arms and eyeing Lucas suspiciously. "Your mom asked me to pick you up and take you home today."

The look on his face said, _Work with me here, kid. Or else._

Nodding, she managed out, "Y-yeah, later, Lucas." She quickly lifted Lucas's arm off of her like it was infected and got into the back of the strange man's car, even though it was ringing every alarm in her head.

As the man drove off, Sawyer leaned forwards. "So, who're you?" She asked. "I know my mom didn't send you to pick me up. She didn't know my bike was getting fixed."

The man smirked. "I'm Derek. I'm a friend of Scott's."

Sawyer cocked an eyebrow. "Yeah, somehow I don't quite believe you."

Derek glanced at her out of the corner of his eye before turning his gaze back to the road. "I'm... like Scott, let's say. And I know about _your_ little thing."

"So, you get all hairy once a month?"

"That's one way to put it." Derek's smirk grew slightly.

Sawyer pursed her lips. "Is there a reason you decided to do this?"

"I need a favor."

"From a eighth grader?"

Derek sighed. "Yeah, I know. I need you to convince Scott to not play in the lacrosse game Saturday."

Sawyer eyed him. "I've known the guy for, like, one day, and you want me to tell him, 'Sorry, buddy, your wolf-friend doesn't want you playing in the game. Tough luck!'"

Pulling into her driveway, Derek parked the car, turning to look back at Sawyer. "Alright, kid, look—"

"Hey!" Donna yelled, appearing in the shotgun seat. "I'm the only one who can call her 'kid!'"

Sawyer jumped, not expecting the ghost to pop in like that.

Derek glanced over to where Sawyer was looking. "What?"

"Donna," Sawyer muttered. "A ghost."

"Damn straight," said Donna said proudly.

Nodding slowly, Derek continued. "Anyway, Scott still can't control his abilities, and if his heart rate rises too much, he'll shift. If he plays that game, he'll shift. In front of everyone."

"But why ask me?"

"He trusts you," Derek told her. "He's already told me about you when I asked where he was yesterday."

As Sawyer got out of the car, Derek followed her.

"Dude, he's not gonna listen to a tiny thirteen-year-old!" She complained.

Derek rubbed a hand over his face, exasperated. "Fine," he said. "Come with me, and I'll show you how desperate the situation is."

* * *

Sawyer had never even been _close_ to the local high school before, but there she was, standing behind Derek as they watched the lacrosse team practice.

"I've never watched lacrosse before!" Whispered Sawyer in awe.

Derek rolled his eyes. "Pay attention, Sawyer," he grumbled.

"Right." She nodded and looked back to the field, only to gasp in shock.

Scott had barreled into a tall, burly guy and immediately sent him to the ground, yelling in pain with a sickening crunch.

"This is what I'm talking about," Derek hisses, glaring at Scott intensely.

Everyone ran to the fallen teen, while Stiles ran to Scott. The two talked for a few moments before they ran off the field.

An animalistic growl escaped Derek, and Sawyer took a fraction of a step back, her eyes wide behind her thick glasses.

"I'm going to talk to him," he said. "C'mon, I'll take you home." He turned around and stalked off, not checking to see if Sawyer was following him or not. Although, she mused as she quickly went after him, he probably already knew with his weird werewolf powers.

The ride back to Sawyer's house was quiet. Sawyer kept her shoulders hunched, trying to be as small as possible.

"Would you relax?" Derek told her exasperatedly.

"Well it's kinda hard when you looked like you wanted to rip someone's head off less than a minute ago!" She complained, immediately regretting it. Clamping her mouth shut, she looked over at Derek with wide eyes, her fear growing when he didn't reply.

The car pulled into Sawyer's driveway for the second time that day. Derek parked the car, then turned to Sawyer.

"Listen, kid," he began, "I know that finding all of this out is terrifying, but there's no going back. So you might as well help because this is going to save your friend."

Sawyer opened her mouth to protest that no, Scott McCall was _not_ her friend; her only friend was Donna, but she realized that wasn't quite true. He was her friend—her first friend. Stiles, too, even. They were her first, and only, _living_ friends.

She pointedly ignored how pathetic that sounded.

Pursing her lips, Sawyer nodded. "Okay," she said firmly. "I'll try. No promises, though."

Derek smiled, at least he tried to. It really looked more like a pained grimace. As Sawyer was getting out, he clapped a hand onto her shoulder.

"Good," he replied. "That's all I needed from you. See you around, kid."

With that, he pulled out of the driveway, and sped down the street, leaving Sawyer standing there, eyes wide.

"What's up, kiddo?" Donna flew down next to her.

"I don't even know anymore," Sawyer told her honestly.

Donna raised an eyebrow. "You gonna tell me what was up with that cat back there?"

"I would, but I barely know myself," she replied. "He wants me to help him with Scott. If he plays that game tomorrow, he'll shift."

Before Donna could say anything, Claire pulled into the driveway.

"Sawyer!" She called, concerned. "What are you doing out here? It's dark, and you know I don't want you out here with that mountain lion running around"

"I, uh, thought I saw something!" Sawyer lied. "I guess it was just my imagination."

Claire raised an eyebrow. "Okay." She started unlocking the door. "By the way, you don't have anything going on Saturday, do you?"

Now it was Sawyer's turn to raise an eyebrow. "I don't think so. Why?"

"Because," Claire replied, "Scott is going to be playing in his first lacrosse game then, and Melissa asked if we could come to cheer him on! Won't that be fun?"

Sawyer swallowed. "Totally."

* * *

The next day, Sawyer was panicking.

"What's wrong, Duncan?" Lucas plunked down on the seat next to her at the lunch table. He put his chin in his hand and looked at her, expecting an answer.

"None of your business," she snapped. "Why do you—"

Her phone started ringing.

"'Scuse me a second," mumbled Sawyer as she answered, not bothering to check the caller ID. "Hello?"

"Sawyer!" _Was that Scott?_ "How've you been?"

"Scott? How did you get my number?"

Lucas gave her a concerned look, which was very different from his usual confident smirks.

"It's Stile's phone," Scott said, as if that explained everything.

"How did _Stiles_ get my number?"

"Not important right now," Stiles rushed out. "Did anyone named Derek Hale come talk to you recently? Big, burly guy, looks kinda like he might murder you in a dark alley? Ring any bells?"

"Uh, yeah, actually," Sawyer said, confused. "He took me home yesterday. How did yo—"

"What did he say to you?" Scott demanded.

Sawyer looked at Lucas, who was trying (and failing) to listen in on their conversation. "Hang on." She turned back to Lucas. "I'll, uh, be right back."

"Everything okay?" Lucas asked her.

"Yeah, I'm good, Lucas, it's fine, j-just give me a second!"

She ran to the empty bathroom.

"Who were you just talking to?" Scott asked. "Who's Lucas?"

"A sort of friend," she responded. "Why?"

"Can we get back to the question?" Stiles snapped. "What did Derek say to you?"

"That he was like Scott, he knew my secret, and that I needed to convince you to not play in the game tomorrow. Oh! He also took me to your practice yesterday, and dude. Really?"

"Sawyer!" Scott groaned. "Not the time!"

Clearing her throat, Sawyer mumbled, "Yeah, sorry."

"Anyway," Scott continued, "I'm gonna have to play that game. Allison's coming, my mom's coming, Lydia's threatening me, _and_ I'll get benched if I don't!"

Sawyer didn't ask who Lydia and Allison were—she didn't need the extra drama.

"Yeah, your mom invited my mom and me to the game, too," Sawyer admitted. "But why are you calling me about this? I'll tell you the same thing I told Derek: I'm literally just a eighth grader."

"A eighth grader who can see ghosts," Stiles reminded her.

"And?" Sawyer prompted.

"And, well," Stiles said, "maybe you can ask around! There's gotta be at least one ghost that knows something about how to control a werewolf!"

Sawyer thought for a moment. "Wow," she responded finally. "That's actually a pretty good idea!"

"Of course it's a good idea!" Stiles retorted, offended. "I came up with it!"

Sawyer rolled her eyes. "Okay, whatever. I need to get back to lunch—Lucas is gonna probably ask a bunch of questions if I take any longer."

"Who is Lucas, agai—"

"Gotta go, Scott!"

"Nonono, Sawyer wait—"

"Bye!"

With that, she hung up the phone and went back to lunch. There Lucas was waiting for her, eyeing her in a concerned manner as she sat back down at the lunch table.

"Who's Scott?" Lucas asked, leaning towards her a little.

"My babysitter," Sawyer mumbled. "He wanted to make sure I was feeling all right; I had a bad migraine the other day."

Lucas frowned a little, but thankfully ignored the fact that she had a babysitter while she was in the _eighth_ _grade_. _"Are_ you feeling better?" He asked, his eyebrows furrowed together in a concerned fashion.

"Yeah, I'm good." Sawyer nodded. "Why?"

Shrugging, Lucas responded, "Why not? Can't I care about you, Duncan?"

"You filled my locker with crumpled paper," Sawyer deadpanned.

He winced. "Yeah, I-I'm really sorry about that, honestly! I wasn't thinking, and I just, well I thought that ma—"

The bell rang.

"Sorry, what did you say?" Sawyer furrowed her eyebrows. "I couldn't hear you."

Shaking his head, Lucas just told her, "Never mind."

Nodding, Sawyer got up and packed up her things.

"Well, uh, see you later!" She waved at Lucas as she headed to science class.

 _That was weird._

* * *

After school, Sawyer headed to the one place where ghosts flocked the most—the cemetery. She leaned her bike against the entrance and went in. Unconsciously, she went to a grave she knew; one she had been too scared to return to.

Sawyer knelt in front of it, staring at the words cut into the stone,

 _Abraham "Abe" Duncan_

 _December 5, 1980-November 3, 2008_

 _A loving husband, father, and friend._

 _Her father._

Abe Duncan was a good man, from what Sawyer had heard. She had never really known him; he died when she was only two. When she was old enough to understand that she could see ghosts, she searched relentlessly to find him, only to learn he had passed on as soon as he died. Abe was never one to have regrets, Sawyer was told.

"What are you doing here?"

Sawyer squeaked, nearly falling over as she turned around to see a tall, curly haired teen boy, staring at her with his arms crossed. As he looked at her face, however, his stern expression faltered.

"Oh, crap," he said. "Are you okay?"

She hadn't even noticed she was crying until the tears running down her face got into her mouth, filling it with a salty taste.

"Yeah, I, I'm fine. Just, uh," She cleared her throat, "visiting my dad." Trailing off awkwardly, she jerked her head in the direction of the grave.

He nodded sheepishly. "Oh, sorry." He stuck out his hand to help her up. "I'm Isaac."

As she took his hand, she replied, "I'm Sawyer. Nice to meet you."

A small smile appeared on Isaac's face. "Yeah, you too, kid," he told her. "Don't be out here too late, okay? Especially not by yourself."

Sawyer nodded. "Sure thing."

Once Isaac was out of sight, Sawyer got to work.

"Okay," she muttered. "I can see you guys—I know you're there, so please help me. My friend's a werewolf, but he doesn't know how to control himself. If he doesn't figure out how, a lot of bad things are gonna happen. There's gotta be one of you who can help him. _Please_."

Slowly, but surely, a ghost appeared next to her. It was an elderly man, and he looked at her apologetically.

"I'm sorry, Miss," he told her. "But the only one who can help you is Laura Hale. And she passed on not long before you came here."

Sawyer pursed her lips. "Okay," she replied, smiling halfheartedly. "Thank you for telling me."

The man gave her a kind smile. "Sure thing, Miss."

As she ran out of the graveyard, she called Stiles's number.

"What is it, kid?" Stiles asked. "We're kind of busy right now."

"I, uh, went to the graveyard just now," She said as she pedaled her bike.

"And?"

"Nothing," Sawyer sighed. "The only ghost that could help us has just passed on recently."

"Passed on? What the hell does that mean?" Stiles sounded impatient.

"Ghosts only stick around if they have unfinished business," Sawyer explained, rolling her eyes.

Stiles sighed frustratedly. "Well, that's just great. Anyway, I'll get back to you later. Make sure to tell us if you find anything out."

Sawyer nodded before she remembered that he couldn't see her. "Will do," She muttered.

They hung up, and Sawyer pursed her lips. Now what?

* * *

It was time for the lacrosse game, and Sawyer was freaking out. She snooped around as much as she could, asked every ghost she could find, but she still had nothing to help Scott.

She sat one row above her mother and Melissa, clutching the plastic water bottle in her hands.

"Why is a six year old here?" A voice asked, sounding confused. Sawyer looked over to see a very two very pretty high school girls.

"I'm thirteen!" Sawyer protested.

The high schooler with reddish hair shrugged carelessly. "Thirteen, six, whatever. You're cute, though, so I think you're going to sit with us."

With that, she sat down next to her, the taller brunette girl sitting on Sawyer's other side.

"I'm Allison," The brunette girl said, smiling warmly. "And that's Lydia."

"I'm Sawyer Duncan," she replied, her own smile growing, albeit a nervous one. Aside from Scott and Stiles, she had never talked to high schoolers before.

Lydia's eyes widened a little, and a small smirk grew on her face, but before Sawyer could ask what that was about, an older man clambered over to them.

"Allison!" The man called out in relief. "There you are! You know, when I asked you to find seats, I didn't think you'd be so hard to find."

The girl in question smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, Dad," she replied. "Lydia wanted me to sit with her."

Allison's Dad smiled and reached out a hand to Lydia. "I'm Chris, Allison's dad. Nice to meet you." As they shook hands, he noticed Sawyer sitting between the two girls. "And you are?"

"Sawyer," she told him. "Sawyer Duncan."

Lydia pursed her lips. "So why are you here, Sawyer? I know everyone on the team, and none of them are named 'Duncan.'"

"My mom wanted me to come and watch the guy who's babysat me a couple of times," she told her, her eyes widening a little as she spoke. "His name is Scott."

"Scott babysits?" Allison asked, evidently recognizing the name. She seemed slightly impressed.

Sawyer opened her mouth to reply, but she was cut off by a whistle tweeting loudly. The game had started.

Everyone was focused on the game, even Sawyer, who had never watched a game of lacrosse in her entire life. Luckily, Lydia took pity on her and quietly explained the rules.

As the game went on, Sawyer couldn't help but notice that it seemed like everybody on the Beacon Hills team was deliberately avoiding Scott. She furrowed her eyebrows as she watched—she may not know that much about the sport, but it was pretty obvious to her that Scott was open, like, ninety-five percent of the time.

"I hope we win," Lydia muttered to Allison as she eyed Scott with distaste. "I know! Help me with the sign! You too, Sawyer. Quick!"

The three girls immediately stood up, holding up a sign made from a poster board. Sawyer had no idea what it said, but she hoped that it would help the team. After a while, they finally sat down again.

"Which one is Scott again?" Chris asked, squinting a little as he tried to find the person in question.

"Number eleven," Lydia replied. "Otherwise known as the one who hasn't caught a ball this entire game."

"I hope he's okay," Sawyer piped up. "He looks kinda sick."

"I hope _we're_ okay," retorted Lydia. "We need to win this." She stands up with the sign again. "Allison, Sawyer. A little help here?"

Sawyer and Allison looked at each other, neither exactly eager to hold up the sign again, but they did anyway. They stood up, holding onto the sign while Lydia cheered.

Suddenly, the ball went flying, and—so did Scott?

He leaped into the air, grabs the ball in his net, and starts running, dodging players left and right. Scoring came surprisingly easy for him, and Sawyer jumped up along with the rest of the crowd to cheer.

"PASS TO MCCALL!" The coach shouted from the sidelines. "PASS TO MCCALL!"

When the game started again, Sawyer furrowed her eyebrows when one of the other players from the other team actually _passed_ Scott the ball. Like, _on purpose._

Scott started running with the ball again, and he scored again. But somehow, he threw the ball so hard that it ripped through the goalie's net.

Everyone cheered again—the score is tied now, five-to-five.

As the next play started, Scott immediately got the ball, and started running, but he paused when he reached the goal.

"Come on, Scott," Sawyer muttered.

"You can do it, Scott," Allison said quietly.

Finally, Scott whipped the ball, and it landed straight into the net. The crowd went crazy—Beacon Hills won!

Sawyer ran down from the bleachers, trying to find Scott and Stiles.

"Kid!" It was Stiles, a giant grin on his face. "You're here!"

Sawyer nodded. "That I am." She looked around. "Where'd Scott go?"

Stiles looked around. "Oh, no," his face fell. "We need to find him. Now."

He lead her into the school, and he filled her in on everything that she had missed, what with the two boys finding the body and getting Derek Hale arrested. They went to the boy's locker room, where they finally found Scott, who was making out. With Allison.

Sawyer immediately covered her eyes and turned away, not wanting to see this.

When Allison said, "I gotta get back to my dad," Sawyer slowly began lowering her hands from her face.

Allison laughed as she walked out of the room. "Stiles, Sawyer," she said, waving.

"Hi Allison!" Sawyer chirped.

"I kissed her," Scott said in awe.

"I saw that," replied Stiles.

"She kissed me."

"Saw that, too. It's pretty good, huh?"

"I don't know how, but I controlled it," Scott said, smiling in disbelief. "I pulled back. Maybe I can do this. Maybe it's not so bad."

Stiles nodded. "Yeah. We should talk later, then. C'mon, kid."

Sensing something was wrong, Scott grabbed the two by the shoulders as they tried to walk away. "What?" He asked.

Reluctantly, Stiles told them, "The, uh, medical examiner looked at the other half of the body we found."

"And?" Sawyer asked. Stiles hadn't told her this; they were waiting until he could tell Scott, too.

"Well, I'll keep it simple," Stiles said. "Medical examiner determines killer of girl to be animal, not human. Derek's human, not animal. Derek not killer. Derek let out of jail."

"Are you kidding?" Scott asked.

"No, and here's a bigger kick in the ass. My dad ID'd the dead girl. Both halves. Her name was Laura Hale."

Sawyer's jaw dropped, and she felt the blood drain from her face.

"Hale?" Scott asked with wide eyes

"Derek's sister." Stiles told them grimly.

Scott noticed Sawyer's pale face. "Sawyer?" He asked, concerned. "What is it?"

She swallowed. "Remember when I said that the ghost who could help us had passed on?"

They nodded.

"That was Laura Hale. The ghost I talked to said she passed on not long before. Like, right before I got to the graveyard."

Scott and Stiles shared a look.

"That must've been around the time that the cops got there!" Scott exclaimed. "What do you think that means?"

Sawyer shook her head. "I have no idea."

* * *

 **A/N**

 **Thank you all for reading this story; it really means a lot to me! This has been my longest chapter so far—over three thousand words! Anyway, what do you guys think about Lucas? At first, he was going to be a minor, bully-like character, but then I changed my mind. There will definitely be more of him—he might even join the world of the supernatural, or be Sawyer's love interest. I'm still playing with ideas, but let me know what you think! Also, let me know if any characters seem a little OOC because that's something I'm still working on. If you like this story, please review, follow, and/or favorite!**

 **Review(s)**

 **Spacedoodles: Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter. To be honest, I was a little surprised when I read your review because that is actually _exactly_ what I planned on doing with Scott and Sawyer's relationship! Good eye!**

* * *

 **This chapter was edited on October 3, 2018.**


	5. In Which Sawyer Hates Bowling

**I do not own anything from Teen Wolf.**

 _"_ _This head won't quiet down_

 _For a single thought_

 _I'm all circle psychopathic_

 _Barely up I just forgot that_

 _I could say it right now,_

 _I could make the time_

 _People have been hoping and I'm finally breaking open._ _"_

 _—Anxious_ _by Hippo Campus_

* * *

Sawyer was barely able to concentrate the next day—she had stayed up until almost one in the morning trying to make connections. It had turned into a large conspiracy theory-esque mystery, and it was all she could think about.

 _If Derek really_ did _kill his sister,_ She thought to herself as she rested her head in her hands, _then w_ _—_

"Sawyer Duncan!"

 _Thump!_

The classroom erupted into whispers and giggles as Sawyer's hands jerked out from under her head, causing her to face to land on her desk. All eyes were on her, including the teacher's critical ones.

"Sorry," she muttered. Sitting up, Sawyer shifted in her seat. Her face grew hotter and hotter even when the laughter died down.

Her teacher, Mrs. Copland, sighed and carded a hand through her hair. "That's okay, Sawyer. Just... make sure you're paying attention next time."

Clearing her throat, she looked at her pencil and nodded slowly.

Mrs. Copland sighed again and continued speaking. "As I was saying, these pairs will last for the rest of the year, so you'd better get comfy. Now, your first assignment is to read the first three chapters of _The Giver_ by Monday. Be prepared to talk about it with the rest of the class."

The bell rang, and everyone began to leave. Sawyer gathered her things, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"What do you want, Lucas?" Sawyer asked, her eyebrows furrowed.

Smiling lazily, Lucas held his hands up in defense. "Hey, you heard what Mrs. Copland said," he joked. "We're partners, so you'd better get comfy."

Her eyes widened. "Wh—" Stopping herself, Sawyer forced her posture to relax. "Oh, okay. Um, I guess we should meet up to talk about it at some point over the weekend?"

Lucas's smile turned into a grin. "Yeah, actually," he slipped his phone out of his pocket, "I was wondering if I could get your number?"

"Um, s-sure," Sawyer responded, but her voice rose, making it sound like she was asking a question. Quickly, she typed her number into his phone and made her way out of the classroom and outside to her bike.

As she fiddled with the lock, someone came up from behind her.

"Sawyer! My favorite middle schooler, what a coincidence it is to see you here!"

Glancing up, Sawyer scoffed, "Stiles, this is the middle school. What are you doing here?" She unlocked her bike from the rack and began wheeling it forward.

Stiles slung an arm around her shoulder. "Walk and talk, kid," he muttered. "We've got a lot going on right now." He led her and her bike to an old blue jeep, and the two of them put her bike in the back.

As Stiles clambered into the driver's seat, Sawyer made her way to the back.

"You know you can sit shotgun, right?" Stiles asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

Clearing her throat, Sawyer nodded sheepishly as she made her way into the front seat. "So what did you want to talk about?"

"Well, uh," Stiles pursed his lips while he started up the jeep. "Kinda funny, actually. Scott, uh... _may_ have mauled a man last night."

"He _WHAT_ —"

Stiles shook his head violently. "No no no, it's okay, the guy's still alive! And we don't know if Scott did it or not!"

Sawyer groaned. She was too young for this. "And this is okay, how?"

"Being hospitalized is better than being dead?" Stiles glanced over at the middle schooler. "Okay fine, I get your point. But _my_ point is that we don't know it was Scott, and if it _was_ him, we know he didn't do it on purpose."

"Fine," Sawyer huffed. "But now what?"

"Now—" Stiles paused. "I don't really know. I hadn't thought that far ahead, to be honest."

"Oh my _god._ "

Stiles glared at her. "Shut up. For now, we just have to try to keep Scott in check."

"And how do we do that?" Sawyer crossed her arms.

"Dunno," Stiles shrugged. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it." He pulled into the library parking lot. "Which is why we're here." Parking, he swung open the door and jumped out of the car. "C'mon, we're gonna do some research."

"Research on what?" Lydia Martin stood near the two, her head tilted expectedly.

Stiles jumped. "Hey, Lydia! Um, well—"

"He was gonna help me study!" Sawyer interjected. "For science."

"Yup!" Stiles nodded vigorously. "She's awful at it."

She glared at him, but she couldn't say anything. It was true, after all.

Lydia pursed her lips. "Hmm, I think not," she said simply.

"I—what?" Stiles asked, flustered.

"I think," Lydia continued, sauntering over to Sawyer, "that she will be coming with me."

Sawyer was almost as flustered as Stiles. "Wha—why am I going with you?"

Pouting sympathetically, Lydia replied, "Someone needs to take you under their wing. Someone to show you the ropes, to help fix your," she eyed Sawyer's striped sweater with slight distaste, "fashion sense."

Stiles gaped, while Sawyer recoiled disgruntledly. Eventually, she sighed. "I don't really have a say in this, do I?"

Lydia smiled, proud that the preteen was quick to catch on. "No." She put an arm around Sawyer's shoulders and began leading her to her car.

Stiles watched his life-long crush drag Sawyer away, rubbing the back of his neck. _What the hell just happened?_

* * *

Sawyer found herself sitting on Allison Argent's bed with Lydia while the brunette dug through her closet. Allison turned around and held up a shirt for the two of them to view.

Eyes widening, Sawyer nodded vigorously, only to stop when she noticed Lydia giving her a look.

"Mm, pass," Lydia answered.

Rolling her eyes good-naturedly, Allison hung the shirt back up and pulled out another one.

"Pass." Lydia got up. "Let me see." She began to go through Allison's closet, and Sawyer watched, having no idea what was happening. "Pass. Pass. Pass on all of it. Allison, respect for your taste is uh, dwindling by the second. But," she shot Sawyer a look, "that's not to say you have the worst taste in this room."

Sawyer stuck her tongue out, but she was ignored as Lydia found a shirt at the back of the closet. "This," she declared triumphantly.

Allison held the sequinned shirt, examining it, when the door opened and Mr. Argent entered.

"Dad, hello?" Allison asked as though she was expecting something.

Mr. Argent paused. "Right. Sorry, I completely forgot to knock."

Lydia fell back on the beg, startling Sawyer. "Hi, Mr. Argent," the redhead greeted cheerfully. Sawyer waved shyly.

"Dad, do you need something?" Allison questioned, furrowing her eyebrows.

Mr. Argent sighed. "Well, first," he turned to the youngest in the room, "Sawyer, you're _sure_ your mom knows you're here?"

Sawyer nodded. "Yes, sir," she replied. "I texted her and called her." She rubbed the the back of her head sheepishly.

"Good," Mr. Argent smiled briefly before turning back to his daughter. "And Allison, I wanted to tell you that you'll be staying in tonight."

"What? Dad, I'm going out with my friends tonight."

"Not when there's an animal out there attacking people." Mr. Argent argued.

"Dad, Dad, I—"

"It's out of my hands," Mr. Argent interrupted. "There's a curfew. No one's allowed out past nine-thirty PM."

Sighing, Allison threw the shirt on the bed in childish protest.

"Hey, no more arguing," Mr. Argent ordered as he left the room.

"Someone's Daddy's little girl," Lydia remarked teasingly once the door shut.

Allison crossed her arms. "Sometimes. But not tonight." She pulled a purple beanie over her head and stormed over to the window, pulling it open. Stepping out, she walked to the edge of the roof confidently.

"What are you doing?" Lydia asked as she and Sawyer rushed to the window. They got no reply other than Allison flipping off the roof and landing gracefully on the ground.

"Eight years of gymnastics!" Allison whisper-yelled up at the two. "You two coming?"

Lydia and Sawyer shared a look. "We'll take the stairs," the redhead replied.

* * *

Sawyer had no idea how she got to the bowling alley. Well, to be fair, she _did_ know. She had been dragged into Lydia's car by Allison and the Queen Bee herself. What she was still clueless on was _why_ she was there.

"How did we get here first?" Lydia demanded, pacing back and forth. "They should _be_ here by now!"

"Scott's on his way!" Allison supplied helpfully, pocketing her phone.

Stepping between them, Sawyer demanded, "Who's 'they?' Why am I even here?"

"Duncan?"

Sawyer whipped around, looking for the source of the familiar voice. "Lucas?"

Lucas Martin stood not far behind her, next to a tall high schooler who looked like he'd rather be anywhere but there.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite cousin," Lydia smirked, practically skipping over to the pair.

"I'm your only cousin," Lucas deadpanned, not at all amused. "Seriously, what is going on?"

Sawyer threw her hands up. "Thank you!" She cried.

Lydia just smirked wider. "I figured you two could use some fun for once," was all she said before she grabbed the hand of the other boy and flounced towards the bowling lanes.

Looking up at Lucas, Sawyer furrowed her eyebrows in an unspoken question.

Lucas shrugged. "I don't know. It's probably best not to ask either. Lydia just does what she wants." There was a brief awkward silence before he spoke up again. "You wanna bowl?" He motioned to the lanes, where Allison was testing the different balls before settling on a lilac one.

"I, uh," Sawyer winced, "I'm not the best bowler, so I think I'll pass."

"Oh, thank god," Lucas muttered. "I hate bowling." His lips turned upwards into a slight smile when Sawyer giggled.

The two walked over to a vacant table and sat down, but not before ordering a large pizza and two sodas. While they waited, they watched the older teens bowl.

"I feel bad for Scott," Sawyer said, wincing when his ball all but flew down the gutter.

Lucas shrugged. "I mean, I feel a _little_ bad," he agreed, talking around a mouthful of pizza. "But it's also pretty funny."

The two of them glanced back over to see Scott roll another gutter ball. Jackson's taunts grew louder and ruder as Scott made his way to sit down next to Allison. Shaking her head, Sawyer grabbed another piece of pizza. She had decided to ignore the older teens, and to just have fun.

Suddenly, there was another crash of pins, and Lucas shook her arm. "Dude, Scott just rolled a strike!"

Sawyer whipped her head around, and Lucas was right: Scott had bowled a perfect strike. The two shared a look.

"That was weird," Lucas remarked. "It's like he's suddenly a pro or something." He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table in front of him.

"Yeah," Sawyer swallowed. "Weird." Was being miraculously good at bowling a werewolf skill? Sawyer didn't think so, but she was still pretty sure it was a major cause.

A little while later, Lucas shook her arm again, motioning to the bowling lanes. "Lydia just bowled a strike too." He leaned back in his seat. "Why is everybody so good at bowling except me?"

Sawyer laughed. "Don't worry—I suck, too."

The rest of the night went on like that; the two would exchange jokes while they ate their pizza and discuss Scott and Lydia's spontaneously developed bowling skills. Sawyer, surprisingly enough, realized she was enjoying herself. Lucas wasn't as bad as he had first seemed. As the bowling game drew to a close, and Sawyer found her eyelids growing heavier and heavier, Lydia offered to drive her home.

"Gotta make sure my little protege makes it home in one piece," The older girl teased as they climbed into her car.

"Thanks," Sawyer replied through a loud yawn. She rested her head on the seat-belt, but she kept her eyes open, choosing to watch the dark scenery fly by through the window.

All too soon, the drive was over, and Lydia pulled into Sawyer's driveway. She breathed a sigh of relief as she jogged up the steps when she realized that her mother still wasn't home yet. Waving to Lydia as she pulled out of the driveway, Sawyer grabbed the spare key from under the mat, opened the door, and bounded up the stairs to her room. Collapsing on her bed, she stared at the ceiling.

"How was that?" Donna asked from her position on the desk chair.

Sawyer paused a moment. How _was_ it? "... fun," she replied eventually. "It was fun." A small smile formed on her face. She'd never enjoyed herself around other people before. That alone was a huge step. She was getting better. It was taking a while, but she was slowly coming out of her shell.

She felt her eyes close, and Sawyer Duncan fell asleep, a large smile on her face.


End file.
